Little Talks
by kingandlionheart
Summary: "I think President Snow has a granddaughter." Set during Mockingjay, AU.


She knows that she messed up immensely, but this time she feels as if her grandfather has taken his strange forms of punishment a bit too far. Instead of being in her regular room at the top floor of his house, with the other private rooms, she is on the ground floor. Right below the basement, which seems especially active tonight. She has no doubts that it is because of the blond haired boy; the victor from District 12. She had caught a glimpse of him entering through the rear door of the mansion, escorted by two Peacekeepers, before she was rushed out of the room.

His screams penetrate her ears and made her stomach hurt. She clutches her pillow firmly around her ears to block out the noise, but it barely muffles the shrieks. Tears fill her eyes and she begins to bang the back her head repeated against the mattress, hoping that the strain of the springs will help to muffle the gut-wrenching sounds.

And then suddenly, it stops as fast as it started. Ophelia sits patiently, resigned from moving an inch before waiting half an hour, waiting for the hallways to clear up and the resident Peacekeepers and scientists to make their way to their quarters; a smaller, but still sprawling house located on the grounds of the mansion. After the allotted time has past, she sits up and throws the covers from her legs swiftly. Stuffing her feet into her black silk house shoes, she hurries to her bathroom and reaches behind the toilet. There waiting for her are the washcloth, dinner roll, and alcohol pads from the first aid kit she swiped from the kitchen.

She goes to her door and draws in a deep breathe before breaching the safe confines of her room. Her mind momentarily lingers on the form of punishment her grandfather will conjure up should she be caught doing what she is about to do, but then stops herself. If she lingers just a moment too long, she knows all of her courage will swoop out of her and she will slink back to her room.

She straightens her shoulders as the elevator doors peel open, allowing her access to the uttermost lower recesses of the mansion. The air is damp and dank though the stainless steel floors and walls are spotless. She hurries to a door, marked with a number she spotted in a file left sitting on her grandfather's desk. His assistant left it there, if her grandfather found this out he would no doubt turn the employee into an Avox. She hopes again that she completes her task without being discovered.

Ophelia types a code into the keypad attached to the door, directly beside the doorknob. She hears a click and a whoosh of air as the door unlocks and clicks open. The room is lit exactly like the halls, with a sharp, too-bright fluorescent lighting that pains the eyes. As she enters the room and lays her eyes on his shriveled form, she grimaces and bile rises in her throat.

His eyes are wild and his pupils dilate smaller and then bigger in a bizarre pattern. He shrinks against the wall when he catches her in his cell. "What do you want?" His voice is cracked and broken.

Ophelia puts a finger to her lips and approaches him slowly, fingers raised in a manner that tells him she means no harm. He reminds her of the small, skittish animals that have been in various arenas over the years, a wild food source for the tributes.

"Here," she says quietly and extends the dinner roll to him. He snatches it from her fingers and tears into it with his teeth, chewing and swallowing fast.

Ophelia took the opportunity to seat herself beside him, legs tucked under her, while he was distracted by the grain. The rip of the alcohol pad being opened called his attention back to her, his body stiffened at her close proximity.

"Do you mind?" she asks, and gestures toward his face.

Ophelia decides that she saw him give the faintest of nods, so she places the alcohol gingerly to the gash on his right cheek. "This isn't much," she says, "but it's all I could get."

"Who are you?" he asks her, his voice is also undetectable.

"My name's Ophelia," she pauses, "What's yours?"

"Peeta."

She nods. "Good to put a name with a face. Nice to meet you, Peeta." By this time she has finished cleaning his face and is working on his bloodied fingers. "I'm sorry this is happening to you," she adds, keeping her eyes on her work.

He looks at her and she notices that his eyes are less frantic, the sporadic movement of his pupils has calmed. "Thank you," he says to her.

Ophelia doesn't respond, only focusing on the swirl of guilt that makes her stomach clinch. It sickens her to know that he's here, having this done to him, and she's powerless to do anything more than give him dinner rolls.

"I have to go now," she says, quickly rising to her feet. She gathers the dirtied alcohol pads and scans the floor for any crumbs from the rolls, there are none.

"Are you coming back?" he asks her finally. Her back is to him and her hand is on the doorknob.

She bites her lip. "I'll try." And she leaves.

* * *

><p>Ophelia was shaking, scared to do what she had decided to do, but this was the only plan she could come up with. She knows she's pushing her luck, but that doesn't stop her from entering the elevator and heading to the basement.<p>

When the elevator opens again, she's not surprised that the hallway looks exactly the same as it did last night. There were no windows. Light gives hope, and her grandfather is a master at flushing away hope.

Momentarily, she stops and composes herself, works to conceal the emotions on her face to that of naive curiosity. She makes her way down the hall, in the direction of the voices. She can hear her grandfathers voice, it's always easy to pick out in a crowd. Low, composed yet menacing. When she gets to the door she registers that it is cracked open, and inwardly thanks the heavens that she won't have to knock on the door. This makes her plan much, much easy. She takes a deep breathe and enters the room. It is Peeta's room, she can tell by the numbers painted above the door frame.

What she sees when she enters the room makes her stomach seize into knots, but her face remains composed. Peeta is strapped to a metal gurney that is perpendicular with the floor, his eyes again retain that manic look she saw from the night before. There are a handful of scientists in starched, white coats surrounding him, poking and prodding him with the pens they use to make little notes on the clipboards in their arms. Her grandfather stands there stoically, observing.

No one notices her enter, so she takes a deep breathe and then says, "Oh my goodness, Grandfather!"

Everyone in the room abruptly turns to the sound of her voice. The doctors look perturbed, Peeta looks lost, and her grandfather? He looks angry.

She steels herself, and then: "That's last year's victor, isn't it?" she gushes and scurries over to her grandfather, clasping his arm. "Isn't it?"

Her grandfather's eyes narrow at her, and then he says, "What are you doing down here, Ophelia?"

"Looking for you!" she replies animatedly. "I didn't know where you were, and Avoxes don't give the best direction," she says, flashing a smile at the doctors in an attempt at a joke. Their faces remain blank.

"Good thing I came, though," she continues. "When you were keeping something this exciting from me! I haven't met this victor yet." She flashes another toothy smile at Peeta. "But what is he doing down here?"

Her grandfather moves his arm around her, gripping him shoulder in a painful vice. "My team were just checking on his new leg, compliments of the Capitol. Isn't that right, Peeta?"

He nods frantically, his eyes confused.

"Oh, I see. How very sweet of you," she replies, faintly wincing as his grip on her shoulder grows tighter and tighter, his nails digging into her skin. "He simply must stay for dinner!" she exclaims. "Oh, please, can he, Grandfather?"

Ophelia knows that her grandfather is furious, but she keeps up the act. He looks at her, then at Peeta, and finally says. "I don't see why not."

"Wonderful!" she muses. "Let me show him the library, Grandfather. Your library is so beautiful. Say you'll let me show him."

"Well, I'm sure he won't want to, Ophelia. Not everyone retains the same fascination for literature that you do."

"Nonsense!" she says. "This poor thing? He's never had the opportunity, but he's a victor now, Grandfather! A victor twice over!"

He pinches the bridge on his nose with his fingers, but motions at the doctors all the same. "Unstrap him."

Ophelia claps softly and beams at Peeta. "Come on!" she says, grasping his hand. It's freezing and she almost shudders. Once he is free of his bonds she pulls him out of the room before her grandfather can change his mind. "Thank you, Grandfather!" she calls to him after they board the elevator.

She is not surprised when, after they reach the upper level of the house, the halls are lined with armed Peacekeepers.

* * *

><p><strong>an:<strong> i don't really know what this is or where it is going, it's just an idea that came to me and i thought i'd write it out. set during peeta's time in the capitol after the quarter quell, if you couldn't tell. review, maybe?


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